Yesterday, I had my fourth radiation treatment, which went without a hitch. I told the technicians about my conversations with the center staff (both chemo and radiation nurses) and they seemed to know nothing about the discussions. They seemed unfamiliar with the Neulasta device on my arm, but were unphased that it was there and went about their business of doing X-rays (2 each radiation session), followed by directed radiation beams at the cancer.
I got back home in ample time to change into a short-sleeved shirt so my wife could monitor the Neulasta device for leakage, etc. As scheduled, it started beeping about 5:15 and two minutes later, it began a 45 minute slow-speed delivery of the drug into my arm. No leaks, no problems. When it was time to remove it, my wife spent several minutes working on the adhesive around the edges to remove it. We followed the step-by-step instructions to get it off my arm. One of the last instructions said to “call your healthcare provider immediately” if the needle that delivered the Neulasta was visible. It was. So I called the by now closed office, explained the situation to the answering service, and left my phone number. Shortly thereafter, the doctor on all called me. She asked me a few questions and assured me that all was well. She asked if I had been given a sharps container to discard the device and I said I had not. She asked me to put the device in a container, careful to cover the needle so it would not stick anyone, and return it to the office on my next visit. And that was that.
So far, I have no evidence of any greater fatigue than before, no nausea, and no other symptoms. Still some pain related to surgery, etc. but nothing untoward.
Today, I’ll go in for my fifth radiation session and drop off the Neulasta device while I’m at it.
I still have no stamina and get short of breath with only minimal exertion. I do not like that in the least. But I assume that, once all this treatment crap is over, I’ll be able to rebuild my strength and stamina and life will return to some semblance of normal. That’s my hope and my plan.